


Where the Heart Is

by SaraNoH



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Gen, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2736305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraNoH/pseuds/SaraNoH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home is where the heart is.  And, apparently, so is Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

> I was assigned the following prompt for this year’s Feelstide celebration:
> 
>  
> 
> _The new Director of SHIELD doesn't have time to celebrate Christmas. He certainly doesn't have time to go home for Christmas (wherever home may be). He has an organization to rebuild. Which means that his stubborn friends will bring Christmas to him instead._
> 
>  
> 
> Home is where the heart is. And, apparently, so is Christmas.
> 
> As per usual, a million thanks to **the_wordbutler** for making my words readable and bearable.

Phil buries himself in his office. He has several reasons for this. One, it’s the first time in a month where things haven’t been sheer chaos with his carving out of control and all of them on the hunt for ancient, alien temples. Two, he doesn’t want to be reminded about how it’s Christmas and his family is gone. Three, he doesn’t want to be reminded about how he couldn’t give his agents leave to visit their families for Christmas. Ward is on the lam again with Skye’s dad and Whitehall. And with the bus once again out of commission, Phil can’t spare what few Quinjets they have for personal travel.

So he hides in his office behind figurative mountains of holographic paperwork. Like an adult. 

He buries himself so far deep in reports and status updates from around the globe that he doesn’t realize it’s evening until May enters his office unannounced. “You have to eat sometime.”

“Mack cooking?”

“There’s been a group effort made.” Phil gives her a dubious look, but she shrugs and nods toward the door. “You have to face them eventually. And for the fortieth time, they’re not even mad that they can’t go home for Christmas.” 

Phil purses his lips, not quite believing her words, but he rises from behind his desk nonetheless. Thoughts about what else he needs to accomplish—budget updates, inventory lists, and never-ending strategic planning—evaporate from his mind as he steps out into the main common area.

The room is softly lit by Christmas lights. Fitz’s dwarf drones are almost done stringing them around the room. In the corner, Fitz points to which areas need more coverage, and Mack dutifully directs the dwarves with a remote control. In another corner, Skye, Jemma, and Trip decorate a giant triangle of green paper with paper snowflakes. They’ve even covered their own shirts with the things. 

“Their versions of ugly Christmas sweaters,” May informs him. 

Chuck Berry’s “Run, Run Rudolph” plays over the stereo system, the sweet smell of sugary cookies and hot chocolate tickles his nose, and Phil’s chest feels full.

But it threatens to explode when he looks over at the counter that’s been transformed into a bar.

Because there, talking to Hunter and Bobbi, are Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton. 

Questions of how and why threaten to sputter out of his mouth, but May just smirks amusedly at him. “Merry Christmas, Phil.”

“You did this?”

“I’m told traditional Christmases involve your entire family.” She pauses to send a pointed look at Clint. “Even if you sometimes want to throw certain relatives off a roof.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that what went down in Quebec wasn’t his fault?” 

May merely huffs her response before wandering off to inspect the paper Christmas tree. 

It takes a moment for the others to realize he’s in the room, and when they do, they all stop and stare expectantly. He hasn’t a clue what to say, but thankfully he doesn’t have to address them all since Natasha is sashaying up to him. “Merry Christmas, _Director_ ,” she greets before kissing his cheek. “You know it’s hard to keep a Level Seven secret when you start sending out messages with your name and new job title.” 

He gives her a small shrug. “Part of the reason why I got rid of the levels.” She shares a small smile with him and shakes her head. He looks over her carefully. She doesn’t look any worse for wear, but that doesn’t mean that she isn’t covering something up. “You doing okay?” He’d been terrified for her when he got the report that she’d leaked all her aliases, along with all the other secrets she and S.H.I.E.L.D. had possessed, but was somewhat pleased with himself that he was familiar with most of her covers. 

“I’m surviving,” she answers vaguely, and he knows better than to push for more of an answer. “Maria wanted to come, but Stark got pissed that we were coming to see you and made her stay behind. Pepper, Bruce, and Steve—the sane ones—all wanted to tell you hi.”

“Please tell them all I said hello.” His eyes flicker over to where Clint is half-listening to Bobbi and Hunter and half-shooting looks in the direction of he and Natasha. “How’s he doing?”

“Well, he’s not carving weird shapes into every wall he finds,” Natasha answers. When she sees the flash of guilt and surprise over his face, she shrugs. “May and I talk. Are _you_ doing okay?”

“I am now.”

Natasha nods, clearly unconvinced but doesn’t push it. She turns her attention back to Clint. “Loki messed up him royally. Hell, that whole day messed with all of us pretty badly. And with S.H.I.E.L.D. being what it is now and all of us constantly on the run to put out HYDRA fires… I think he’s mostly recovered, but sometimes, it’s hard for even me to tell.”

“How is he tonight?”

“Well, he’s currently having a conversation with his ex-wife and her other ex-husband. How would you feel?”

Phil shrugged. “Don’t have quite the ample relationship history to answer that one.” 

Natasha snorts and then none-too-gently elbows him in Clint’s general direction; she gives him a pointed look and then moves away to join May. Slowly, Phil walks up to the knot of people talking. Hunter greets him with a smile. “Happy Christmas, Coulson.”

Bobbi rolls her eyes. “Yes, we get it. You’re so British.”

Hunter pulls a pained face. “I am merely trying to wish our boss a traditional holiday greeting. Must you always—“

“Yeah, whatever,” Bobbi mutters as she shoves Hunter and the two of them find some other spot in the room to continue their bickering. 

Phil and Clint stand there silently eyeing each other for a moment. Phil, like he did with Natasha, looks him up and down to look for visible signs of distress—his usual routine when reuniting with Clint. He’s about to ask how he’s doing, but Clint speaks first.

“I never got the chance to apologize,” he says, his voice a little rough. “I’m so sorry, boss.”

“Sorry for what?” Phil asks.

“Loki.”

Phil shakes his head. “None of that was your—“

“Yes, it was.” Clint stares at his boots and shakes his head. “He crawled into my head, pulled my mind apart, and looked at all my secrets. He knew everyone because of that—all their weaknesses and strengths. Fucked with Natasha pretty good, not that she’ll admit that, but he did. And then you…”

“What happened to me was my own fault. I got a little cocky thinking I could take on a demigod all on my own to buy others some time.” 

Clint’s head comes up, and his eyes look just sad and lost enough that Phil’s heart hurts. “That’s not what happened,” he tells him. “He was in my brain. And I told him just how vital you were to everyone—us, Fury, the whole organization. Whatever you may think, I knew exactly which link in the chain would need cut in order to make everything collapse.”

Phil feels his face grow warm with the compliment, but it isn’t true. “I appreciate the thought, but I think it’s a little exaggerated.”

“Whatever you say, _Director_.”

Their conversation is interrupted by one of the dwarf drones buzzing Clint’s head. “Sorry,” Mack apologizes dryly from across the room. 

Clint sighs wearily. “It’s so much fun being the ex-husband of Bobbi’s that they all hate.”

“Pretty sure they hate Hunter most of the time, too.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Clint,” Phil says gently. The man’s eyes snap attention out of habit, and Phil tries not to smile at that. “I’m okay. Really, I am. It’s me. I’m not some copy of myself, I’m fine. Got a hell of a scar on my back, but I’m told it gives me character. Stop beating yourself up.”

Clint breathes shakily and nods before handing Phil a mug of hot chocolate. “Merry Christmas, boss.”


End file.
